


a place called sunrise

by charcoalsuns



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:00:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: In which Sendai is a fleet in orbit around an incidental planet, stardust is renewable energy sourced from across the galaxy, and Asahi has a choice to make.





	a place called sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mahwaha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahwaha/gifts).



> ("soft career change" isn't a tag, but if it were, i'd have used it)
> 
> hello! this is something i don't think i ever would have written, if not for your prompts! the most difficult part of the creating process might have been simply deciding, in the beginning, which of several intriguing challenges to take on ^^ the most interesting parts came afterward. 
> 
> happy holidays and happy new year, and i hope you find some things to smile about in this!

 

 

By the time the inner door is clear to slide open, the pressure in their front airlock is already holding steady to match that of the apartment itself. It's a fact, a simple prerequisite, and Asahi, heart leaping, takes stock of it to ground himself – so to speak.

Hinata's bouncing on his toes, _just_ manages to let the door open enough for him to fit through before he springs in like a sunbeam, helmet off, arms reaching, and it has been too long, Asahi thinks, since he has felt either sun or beam warm his skin.

"Welcome home," he says, catching them both so they don't send him crashing over the step of the _genkan_. He holds Hinata steady, words swirling for a spell around his unusually silent head. His lips press motionless against Asahi's collarbone.

But silent and motionless are as always temporary states, and Hinata never stays in places like that for long.

He pulls back, hops to the freshly-cleaned tile with a cheerful _thud_ of his boots, says, "I'm home," with all the triumph of a child returning from a midyear day spent building sandshuttles in Nishikicho Park. It belies the mission he _has_ just returned from, the shuttles built from materials far more permanent than sand.

Asahi smiles at him, realizes he already is, and reaches out to rest a hand in his hair. It's not as fluffy as usual, courtesy of his trip back from the docks in—oh.

"Aha! There he is!" Nishinoya's grin is brighter than his craft's taillights, currently blinking their sorry-please-go-around-me emergency pattern as he hangs over the driver's side, waving from paused vehicle through two sets of airlock doors. "Forgetting about us already, are you, Asahi-san!"

"Nah, he's just too happy to see Hinata again," says Tanaka, hanging over the side of Nishinoya's shoulders. Their helmets might well be one, sometimes. Joint laughter comes through the worn front intercom with a slight, high-pitched distortion that makes it kind of sound like they're laughing at him, but Asahi rinses the thought away with the clarity of long-accumulated practice and only grins sheepishly back, Hinata leaning into him as he laughs himself.

"Sorry, guys," he says, moving toward the airlock controls. "Would you two like dinner, too? Food's still warm, and there's plenty."

Tanaka waves his suited hand when Asahi pauses for their answer. "Next time, next time," he says, "And that's a promise, all right? We've got nowhere to park today, anyway, sweeping curfew's in like half an hour."

"All right," Asahi says, as Hinata calls, "A promise, Tanaka-san! Now we'll be expecting you!" He's stuck his head forward faster than the intercom can adjust for his volume, but if anyone matches him in exuberance it's the two out there in their open-cab craft, and shouted confirmations fill the _genkan_ in still another version of sunlight.

Nishinoya keeps an arm raised in see-you-soon as he pulls away from their apartment row (even as he returns Tanaka's salute, part of Asahi sincerely hopes they'd checked at least the back sensors' livefeed before zooming out like that), then the space beyond the airlock is just that – space. Default, rather than deserted. Nothing to need to shake his head out over. Still, it is darker than asphalt at night down planetside, and emptier than their living space feels when it's just him for as many weeks as it's been.

"'Time's it," Hinata asks, voice now muffled in the sweater he'd gotten Asahi last new year. He always seems simultaneously bigger and smaller than Asahi remembers when he comes back. Stories to leave their libraries untouched, but all packed into a body that has even now grown only just enough to pass the lower height requirement for non-augmented pilots. Regardless of the travel-smell making its way past the seams and panels and overlapping layers of Hinata's suit, Asahi doesn't think he wants to let go quite yet, either.

"'Bout half past twenty," he says. "Dinner's on the table?"

"Hm," says Hinata. He's still leaning into Asahi's side, and not, it seems, only out of needing to readjust to their apartment's internal gravity. "In a bit."

 

 

 

 

 

A bit later – after Hinata had wrestled out of his boots and piled his suit into a slightly folded heap to be cleaned in the morning, only to realize he'd left his bags on the floor of the airlock; after Asahi had sealed up his own suit to retrieve them; after dinner had been transferred from plate to tongue to too-full stomach and dishes had been lined up in the washer—

A bit further after that, they sit side-against-side in the main room, pixel projector asleep as it normally isn't at this hour, and Asahi rests his left arm along the back of the couch, as he normally does at any hour.

For the first time in the last quarteryear, though, there is someone to scoot into it when they're taking a momentary break from flung-armed gestures, and pantomime that has in fact been improving of late, in terms of communicating in the general theme of what he wants to show.

(Hoshiumi had found Asahi sitting just like that on a weekend last month – and why does he still have a key, anyhow, he moved out half a year ago, scattering of forgotten items notwithstanding – and had stood in the doorway, staring in a disconcerting sort of way before blinking, unsmiling but not really unkind, saying, "You, man, have got to fill out your shoulders more," and disappearing into their current guest room to pull up a hidden floor panel or something. Asahi had blinked in turn at the spot of confusion he'd left in the doorway, and turned back to the electric bills he'd been catching up on, one-handed.)

Another fact is this: there's a piece of Asahi's heart, if he wants to be a romantic about it, that feels unlocked and flung open when Hinata's recounting one situation or another he'd gotten himself into and back out of, imitating all the involved persons' expressions and using the entire reach of his arms as a tool of emphasis.

If Asahi wants to be psychological about it, he knows it's just the resurfacing of a certain tone of reaction he's grown from a seedling – planted on the day Hinata first dashed up to him and stood, mouth open for an exclamation that had gotten lost on the way out, watered little by little every day they'd gone through piloting school in adjacent classes, and nudged aglow by a presence he's thought all kinds of embarrassing metaphors about in the years since.

But Hinata hasn't been _missing_ from his side, during the past three months he hasn't been at Asahi's elbow for at least a few hours a day, when they'd both be home.

Asahi had missed him, as he always does, and Hinata keeps looking over his face like he's got _kombu_ stuck there in careless flecks, and Nishinoya and Tanaka might well continue laughing at their expense when they come over sometime next week, but—

A fact: they're okay, wherever they are.

It's less a matter of Asahi getting used to Hinata's frequent missions out of system and Hinata getting used to Asahi's odd hours at the shipyard; it's more a matter of setting upright what matters to them both, and the ways they carry the knowledge of each other's lives around as they go about their own, hands busy, arms reaching for myriads.

Arms waiting along backs of couches and fidgeting in their sleeves in an airlock, when the situations roll around.

Hoshiumi hadn't really been wrong. For all their clear contrast in size, Hinata's shoulders have on many an occasion seemed rather filled out themselves, or at least, held stubbornly in the outlines of where he most wished to be. Asahi has on many occasions hunched his down and shaking, in thought that he might disappear, and forgo the holding back he was surely burdening onto those around him.

But it's taken more time and more learning than a look-over from a doorway could provide, for them to accept the trellises of the places they haven't yet grown into. It's taken more heart than Asahi can describe, for him to weather the shaking and rebuild, for Hinata to fly one shuttle after another, even further than anyone but himself had believed he could.

Asahi is grateful, in a way, to hear how they seem. It reminds him of who they want not to become.

 

 

 

 

 

The joy of the evening settles around them like another blanket pulled from the bed – _not tired yet, Asahi-san, let's sit here a while longer_ – and Asahi takes a breath before he lets out one side of the bundle of questions he's been turning over in his head since the offer had been made.

"Did Daichi… Did he mention anything about it?"

Hinata looks up from the pixel projection that's playing before them now, a rerun of a documentary from a few months back, one about the known and unknown dangers of building spacecraft to travel faster than light. Asahi has met a number of people who had sidled up to him in the shipyard, thinking from his appearance that he'd be the type of blue-suited worker who would install an _extra boost_ to their engines, off the records, for the right price. He's on decent terms with their ward's police department by now. "About what?" Hinata tilts his head. "The opening in the engine room?"

Asahi nods. "Did he say he had anyone else in mind, or…?"

"Would Captain talk to us about stuff like that!" Hinata's eyes are the kind of wide that become basis for strangers to assume naiveté, and sidle up to get one over on him. "I don't think he does, though, we're not super stretched thin right now, just—" He pauses, finds his truth. "I think we'd all feel steadier if you came onboard."

"Would you?" Asahi asks, before he can help himself.

Hinata only reaches for Asahi's hand where it's hanging over his shoulder, only takes it in two of his like a gentle sandwich and tucks their fingers together, firm. Only says, "You know I would," and leaves it at that.

"I know," Asahi says. They've talked about it all at length, at many lengths before. It can't be the only reason to make his decision on.

"I know you're thinking about it," Hinata says, "Like, all the time. But as long as you're not sure if you really want to come out with us, I'm not gonna ask. It wouldn't be fair, you know?"

Asahi starts, turns a little on the couch. He looks both ways (meets one eye, the other, the bridge of his nose), and crosses his other hand through Hinata's hair. He smiles. "I really appreciate that." Hinata's forehead is warm, soft where he presses his lips to it. "Thank you."

Hinata puffs a laugh against his throat. "You're the one who taught me patience, anyway," he says. "You're welcome. Whenever you choose."

Neither of them mention it again, but Asahi doesn't need the clarification. There's a place on Daichi's ship open to him, should he choose to take it. Despite their two-way radio silence since the offer, though, and despite Hinata's resolve not to tug Asahi along, he also knows: the opening isn't forever.

Asahi doesn't know when it will close off to him, either, and that indecision weaves into his own, pulling close a net that feels less and less loose around his limbs as the days pass him by.

 

 

 

 

 

They find a day where all four of them are free, a few days before three of them leave on their next stardust-gathering mission. To Asahi's surprise, only Tanaka is waiting in the airlock when he answers the door; Nishinoya calls over the intercom for him to _get your butt out here, Asahi-san, there's a regulator with your name on it!_

Tanaka shrugs when Asahi looks over at him, unlocking his helmet and hanging it over an empty knob. "Yeah, we could, but we trust you with it more," he says with a grin, clapping Asahi on the shoulder. "Stuff always runs longer when you take care of it." He's taken off his boots and stepped into his pair of guest slippers, is already sliding into the kitchen bearing a box of pastries and a holler of hello by the time Asahi gets the bottom half of his suit on.

Outer door, closed, check. Helmet locked and oxygen circulating, he steps out to help.

"'S just the one for the exhaust system," Nishinoya tells him after he's sent the craft rocking from the force of his hug. "Me and Ryuu are pretty aware of how much fuel we've used up, and 'course we know how to get our waste tanks to the recycling center before they blow, but, y'know. Probably wouldn't pass inspection." His laugh over the probability of _failing a fleet-mandated vehicle inspection_ would be worrying if Asahi hadn't learned not to worry about him. Much.

"I'm on it," he says, and checks that all the engines are safely off and cooled before he starts popping any panels open.

After he gets the regulator reinstalled (nothing major had needed replacement, just a fiddly dial, then a few loose wires had been easily bundled up and screwed back in) and is sitting on the floor of the cab across from Nishinoya, letting one of the smaller engines work for a few minutes to make sure everything's back to where it should be, he asks:

"Do you think I'd be a good fit for your crew?"

Nishinoya's hands freeze over the bright plastic puzzle he'd been twisting and clicking into place as they waited. "Why're you asking me that?" The laughter's disappeared from his face.

"Well, I just," Asahi shakes his head. "I wanted to know what you thought."

There's no thunder, out here without an atmosphere, but it's a near thing. "You don't need to know what I think." Nishinoya's stare is harder than rock. He sighs, a slow, deliberate exhale. An avalanche averted. "Listen, Asahi-san. I'm not here to drag you back to us. It didn't work last time, and it's sure as hell not gonna work now. But you know, _you know_ there's a place on our ship. Your name on it."

Asahi's shoulder twinges in recent memory, a clap softer than thunder, but just as strong.

"What does it matter if you fit or not?" Nishinoya asks him. "Can't prove anything beforehand." It's not an accusation, but it wakes something in Asahi all the same. "It doesn't matter who's there, we _adjust_. It's the whole point. But you gotta be sure about us, too."

"I'm…" Asahi is sure of where he stands with one of them. Sometimes it seems a lot to ask of the gods, to let him stand with all of them once more. "I'm already lucky enough," he says, quiet.

Nishinoya scoffs, but it's lighter than before. "C'mon, Asahi-san," he says, "There's no such thing as _enough_." He snaps the last colored layer into place and flings himself over the passenger side seat, tossing the puzzle back into the glove compartment. "You don't think Shouyou thinks that way, do you?" Asahi shakes his head. A simple answer. The most dear of simple answers. "Thought not. So what's the problem! We've followed your example so often, you can do it back, all right!"

Asahi tucks his words close to consider more freely later on. He needs a little more time, he finds, than Nishinoya's constant motion leaves clear, and in any case, the regulator seems to be working fine, so it's time to finish up and head inside for dinner. He catches Nishinoya's shoulder before he can vault out of the craft, boots-first. "Thanks," he says, but Nishinoya is already shaking his head.

"You know how to thank me," he says, "And words ain't it."

 

 

 

 

 

The washer's been filled and is humming happily away when their stomachs settle enough to reach for the box of pastries Tanaka and Nishinoya had brought over. Asahi manages a few bites of a sleepily decadent tiramisu before he has to set his fork down, lean back on the couch, and admit defeat toward the ceiling.

From his seat at the _kotatsu_ , Hinata pats Asahi's knee in sympathy, then turns back to the open box with his own fork raised like a screwdriver over a circuit panel. "More for me!" he cheers, and catches himself. "Tanaka-san?" At Tanaka's heartfelt groan, "Nishinoya-san?"

"You bet, Shouyou!" Nishinoya says, and they go for the rest of the box's treats with the single-minded intent of those possessing bottomless appetites.

"Must be nice," Tanaka mumbles, looking about ready to fall asleep right there, where he's slouched down, hands resting on his stomach. "Hey, Asahi-san."

"Hmm?"

"You're not beating yourself up about needing to make that decision, are you?"

The cream and sugar in Asahi's belly feels a lot less sleepy, now, dropping into freefall. "Not really," he says. Hinata and Nishinoya chatter on, either oblivious to Tanaka's change of subject or choosing to let them speak alone.

Tanaka's palm rests heavy on Asahi's arm for a moment. "'S okay," he says, sitting up a little. His eyes look more alert than they had been not ten seconds ago. "You don't have to talk to me about it, but I thought you seemed a bit down, is all. Around here." He rubs the spot between his own eyebrows, mirroring where Asahi can feel a furrow himself, now that Tanaka's mentioned it.

"No, it's okay," he says. "It's true. I'm… thinking a lot about it."

"Well, you know what _I_ have to say about thinking too much," Tanaka says, grinning. For his words, though, he sure looks like he's giving consideration to what he wants to say, Asahi observes. Another part of him notices that some gestured communication has resulted in Hinata standing up from the _kotatsu_ , forks and near-empty box in hand, and leading Nishinoya over to the guest room. The cheerful sounds of a new hologame float into the hallway, and they pull the door shut behind them.

Asahi lets out a small sigh, lips turning upward at the corners. "I asked Nishinoya earlier," he says. "He told me nothing could be proven beforehand."

"Sounds like him," Tanaka says. His smile softens his face in much the way Asahi's feels on his own.

"I just don't want to get underfoot," Asahi says in a breath. "And…" He trails off, not knowing how to wire his doubts together.

Tanaka hums. "Again, you mean?"

That's— That is less tact than Tanaka usually handles him with, but Asahi doesn't feel hurt. He's right on the nose, after all. "I know I shouldn't keep thinking over my mistakes," Asahi says, "But I did more damage than I ever wanted to, when I ran away. I don’t want anything like that to happen again."

There's a shout from the guest room, and a cascade of shared laughter before the soundproofing kicks on. _I don't want any of this to break again_.

"Asahi-san," Tanaka says, serious as the grave. "Even if you choose not to come on board with us, if you don't choose _something_ , something else is gonna happen anyway." He rubs his chin. "I get that Daichi-san can be a bit short with you sometimes, but you've gotta know. Every one of us forgave you years ago."

Asahi nods. He worries the inside of his lower lip between his teeth, thinking.

"'S impossible to say you're not gonna make any mistakes again." Tanaka's not looking at him anymore, eyes on the space before them where the pixel projector sleeps. "Just gotta own up to 'em when they happen. And trust that everyone around you's gonna accept you for working hard afterward." His eyes go wide. "I—I mean, we already—"

"Tanaka." Asahi smiles. "I get what you're saying. Up here." He taps his own forehead, twisting his lips together. "Really _getting_ it, though, that's… Well." He looks at Tanaka, a certain esteem warm and bright in his chest. "For what it might be worth, I think you're doing fine."

"Asahi-san! You can't just say things like that!" Tanaka gives a giant, teary sniff, stretching his legs out from the couch. "I'm not saying we miss you," he says, "But we definitely trust you."

When Hinata slides open the guest room door a little while later, Nishinoya peeking over his shoulder like they're in a spy serial, Tanaka's fast asleep with his head on the armrest, Asahi resting a hand on one of the shins across his lap. His other arm is where it usually is.

He smiles softly across the room, feels his breath catch at the quiet, buzzing concern on Hinata's face, and wonders, not for the first time, if he can trust himself to meet them.

 

 

 

 

 

It's always a little emptier when Hinata goes away again.

Not just in their apartment, not just the side of a bed and the space on the couch, not just the way Asahi doesn't realize why it seems so silent until his eyes fall on the blank-faced sound system controls, untouched without Hinata's enthusiasm for _background music! How do you focus without it, Asahi-san?_

But it's not a helpless kind of emptiness that Asahi finds himself carrying around. He keeps his facial hair neat and trim, smiling in the mirror at the echo of pouting admiration for his need to trim anything at all. He takes up more of the single-digit hours at the shipyard, does his exercises on his callused hands and tired wrists after dinner, and reminds himself to think toward a decision.

The problem remains: it is infinitely more difficult to take on that train of thought when he knows it could take him away, too.

Asahi settles into routine like a washer past the thread of a screw, like he's meant to fit there and not rattle free, unchecked. It isn't that there aren't safety measures, out there in open space – truly open space, that is – there are more than ever to keep track of; but if he were to go alongside them as a coworker, as a crew member, he would be depended on to hold all those measures strong himself.

No, surely it's safer here, where his work is checked over before his ships are cleared for inspection, where his mistakes are caught before they can go crashing into someone, anyone else.

And yet—

On his breaks at the shipyard's loading docks, Asahi leans his hands against his next pile of sealed crates, pieces of carefully engineered parts that he will fit together like layers of a large-scale plastic puzzle. He turns his face up toward the clear, cavernous ceiling, and imagines like he'd used to, as a kid – what clouds look like up close when they're made of stuff far more colorful and varied than planetside vapor; the pride and satisfaction of good energy well gathered; how a shuttle feels when it zooms in sync with a line of others, further from the fleet than he can hope to travel in a day.

He could be out there again.

He can't see anything but black from here, not past the lights that illuminate the entire workspace. The emptiness only gives his wondering more space to grow.

It takes Asahi weeks of wondering to reach a conclusion, small but certain. He wants to go. He's been circling back and forth around the same old reasons, the same theoretical pros and cons, the same physical weight of remembering why he'd left open space behind, but it all comes down to the same problem: he wants to go.

He's repaired parts of Daichi's ship before – he'd _built_ parts of Daichi's ship, if memory serves – he knows his way through a shuttle's paneled walls like he knows the winding routes of Sendai's sub-fleet trains. He would need to get re-certified, most likely, but the job isn't out of reach at all.

Asahi continues going through day by day of his routine. He puts off the breaking of it, like a bandage held steady over a wound that might or might not have already healed.

 

 

 

 

 

"Regret?" Hoshiumi asks, crunching through a mouthful of pepper snaps. "Dunno what that is."

Asahi pours two cups of tea and sets them on the table. Through the main room window, he catches the blur of a cruising craft, then catches himself staring out into the black. The fleet's streetlights really are too bright to see past. "It's… like when you keep thinking back to something that went wrong. Some mistake you made. And it's like a hole in your sock or a hole in time, the more you poke through it, the bigger—"

"No," Hoshiumi says, "I _know_ what it _is_."

"I thought you said—"

"Not _literally_ , big man." He shakes his head, waving dismissively. "So you broke some threads. Fix 'em."

Asahi stutters out something resembling a laugh. "It's not anything I can just _undo_ ," he starts.

"I didn't say _undo_ ," Hoshiumi says. "I said _fix_."

"It's not anything I can fix," Asahi continues, "It's going to be there no matter what." He raises his hands, forgets what he wanted to emphasize, and runs both through his hair, tugging at the roots. "I know I need to just forget it and move on, especially 'cause everyone else tells me they aren't holding it against me, but I _can't_ forget it. It keeps pulling me back down."

Hoshiumi doesn't say anything right away, which is a little unnerving, coupled with his resting stare of profound intensity. Asahi is starting to think he'd used up his patience when he squints, lets out a huff through bared teeth, and reaches for another handful of pepper snaps. "Like hell," he says. It's more of a shout, muffled though it is. There are bits and crumbs to be swept up later as he chomps down.

Asahi doesn't flinch, but he feels like his nerves are on edge.

"You know what's there no matter what?" Hoshiumi shoots at him. He crumples up the empty bag and tosses it back onto the table, marching to his feet. His hands gesture up and down his body like a rogue pair of wings. " _This_ is here no matter what. Regret all you want, but patch it up as many times as it takes. Make it better." He glares. "And prove it, not to anybody else if they don't wanna understand, but to _yourself_."

There's a beat, as there always is, where shame drips down Asahi's spine like a leaking fuel line. He straightens his back. He blinks. He's learned to do that – he could learn to fix something else. "You know," he says, drawing a careful breath, "Sometimes you remind me a little of a friend I know."

Hoshiumi snorts. "As if. I'm the only one of me there is."

"Not for lack of trying, huh," Asahi says lightly.

"Hinata can go admire someone else," Hoshiumi says, crossing his arms. His eyes are a near thing. "I'm no one's model pilot."

Asahi holds his mug of tea between his palms. Still warm. "Is that the thing that you prove to yourself?" he asks.

A beat. There's a _whoosh_ of air when Hoshiumi sits himself back onto the couch. "Every damn day," he says, digging his heels into the rug. "Every damn day someone tells me it's a good thing I meet the height requirements, or my talent'd have gone to waste. All stars in their eyes, even though we're surrounded by that kind of light." He lifts his chin. "I've got skills regardless. They're focusing on the wrong thing."

"And the right thing…"

Hoshiumi's stare is like a spotlight. "What do you want to do?"

"What do I—"

"Your _skills_ , big man. What do you want to use 'em for."

"I…" Asahi pauses. Tells himself to stop picking at the holes in his past, and holes that cannot yet have been torn into his future. "I want to fix things." He swallows. "I want to be there when they fly."

"Well. There you go."

And with that, he's on his feet again, striding across the floor in borrowed slippers, reaching for his suit where it hangs on the wall of the _genkan_. Asahi shakes himself. "Where are you off to now?"

"Back down planetside," Hoshiumi says, unidentifiable retrieved item under his arm. "Real gravity suits me better." He locks on his helmet. "See you. Or not."

 

 

 

 

 

Hinata has the most guileless face this side of the galaxy, Asahi thinks, and it is exactly that which makes him a little terrifying to behold, sometimes.

"If you've made up your mind, what's stopping you?" His head is tilted as he looks directly across every mile between them; their satellite signal is perfectly functional, but his voice seems to crackle through the speakers.

Asahi keeps his shoulders back. No need to go on the defensive. "This is a big decision," he says, calm over the beginning of a storm. "I want to be sure of the course before I lock it in."

"And how will you know?" Hinata asks. His arms are bare beneath his T-shirt, fingers at his elbows in adrenalized rhythm.

If he is terrifying, he is also familiar.

Asahi looks at him, framed small in the screen that captures his entire cabin, bright pixel plants and posters and paraphernalia, down to the hoodie on the back of his chair that he'd gotten off a children's rack four years ago. All as much a part of him as the way he sees right through any reason turned his way. All as much a part of Asahi's life as the shipyard he once ran away to, as the place where he's since built himself stability, and would now be leaving behind.

He looks at Hinata, smaller than life in the screen connecting them, eyes that have never shied away without coming back twice as intent. A parting light. "I think I do now," he says.

Hinata blinks at him.

"We said that _we_ wouldn't be the only reason," Asahi says, ducking his head to smile down at the video controls. "And it's not. But it's a pretty important one to me."

When he looks back up, Hinata's mouth is parted on a breath he can't feel. His skin is warm anyway.

There are three short raps on what sounds like a doorframe, startling them both out of things they haven't yet spoken. "Sorry to interrupt," comes a controlled, even voice Asahi remembers before he can place it. "Hinata, if you don't get suited up in the next ten minutes, this deploy is going to start running behind."

"Ten minutes is plenty!" Hinata cries, turning to glare at the sorry interruption. "Why didn't you just call me over the comms?"

"I did," says Tsukishima. He's stepped into the room, wrinkled his nose slightly but visibly at something Asahi can't see, and retreated to the relative safety of the doorway. "Twice. You ignored them." He inclines his head toward the camera. "Hello, Azumane-san."  

Asahi waves as Hinata gives a valiant protest. "I did not—" His rolling eyes seem to catch on a missed notification icon, and his scowl slides into a sheepish little grin. "Oh. Huh."

"What if it had been a truly urgent matter," Tsukishima says. As is usual, his tone betrays no urgency, hypothetical or otherwise.

"If it had, I'd _know_." Hinata pushes off from the edge of his desk, sending his chair rolling across the paneled floor with barely a sound. When he leaps to his feet, it's with a hunger released from the coils of his limbs, and the very air of his cabin shifts, recycled by irreplicable means, coming alive in a way no sensors or stabilizers could ever detect. Through two screens and millions of miles of open space, Asahi's nerves are set ablaze. "I've gotta go," Hinata says, looking over once more, eyes wide and terrifying and brilliant. "I'll talk to you later, Asahi-san!"

Then he's past Tsukishima and into the hallway, boots clattering down the grid by the time Asahi says, "Fly safe," and smiles at the sight he's left behind.

Tsukishima sighs. " _Again_ ," he says, and braves whatever it was his senses had encountered earlier to walk back into the room, toward the still-live video call. "Tell him a thousand times that recyclable energy doesn't mean _inexhaustible_ , and does he listen."

"Sorry for calling so close," Asahi says, before he can switch the connection off.

Tsukishima pauses, raised hand turning sideways to snag the back of Hinata's chair instead. His motions are all very smooth. Asahi holds in a smile. "Please," Tsukishima says, "Don't be ridiculous." He sits on the forward half of the chair, dignity intact. "Time zones are a pain. I know that well."

They are. But a small pain, compared with the alternative. "What system are you guys in now?" A brief question, as Asahi knows this conversation will have to be. Tsukishima has tasks himself to take care of, after all.

"FH-17," he says. "Our system has a stable treaty with them, but there are always rogue ships trying to slip past the radar and disrupt our trade."

"Will you be secure?" Asahi asks. With the crew Daichi's brought together, it's a more reasonable sentiment than _Will you be safe?_ or _Will you be careful?_

Tsukishima lifts a corner of his mouth. "No guarantees," he says, "But we'll do what we can."

What they can do is something Asahi is familiar with, from thankfully exaggerated recounts and somewhat realistic sound effects, if not, just yet, from direct experience. "He's flying decoy again," he says. A wave of worry rises through his throat, a shaky breath in an offshoot of the most universal element. Fear is familiar. He inhales through it.

"This particular _captain_ has somewhat of an interest in him," Tsukishima says. His use of the title holds none of the deference he would have in respect to Daichi, and something eases in Asahi to hear that brand of polite nonchalance, toward what is surely not an insignificant source of danger. Exhale.

"I'll look forward to hearing about it when all of you are back," he says, consciously relaxing his face. He thinks of what Tanaka had told him, weeks and months ago, with sweets filling their stomachs and inevitable mistakes on their minds. His worries run clear. _I trust you, too_.

Tsukishima nods. When he excuses himself, it's with nothing released from the careful control with which he carries his limbs, but there's a look of business in his sharp eyes, alight, in a way, right before the connection is switched off.

If something goes wrong, they will adjust for it. It's the whole point.

Electronic dance music plays softly from the sound system, where it had been keeping Asahi company as he made himself dinner. He taps his feet against the rug, against the rhythm, restless like he hasn't gotten used to. Constructive fire flows through his veins. There are a few things he needs to do, and then he will be there, routines unraveled, adjusting with them.

 

 

 

 

 

"No kidding?" Tendou says. He looks delighted, perceived joke or not, swinging his legs next to Asahi's shoulders from the top of a crate pile.

Asahi gives a small shrug, a bigger smile on his lips. "Not kidding," he says. "I'll be here another ten days, then there are a few courses I need to take before I can get re-certified."

"You've already started, haven't you," Tendou almost-asks. "You've been looking a bit tired lately. Afternoon classes?"

That he reached that conclusion is not much of a surprise; that he's right – well, that's not surprising, either. Asahi tilts his bottle of water toward him. "As charged," he says, laughing a little. "Is there anything else your hindsight tells you?"

Tendou turns his head down to look at him from an angle that makes Asahi's own neck twinge. "'Scuse me," he says, eyebrows high, relatively. "I see _before_ , not after."

"Sorry, sorry," Asahi says. "Of course."

A sigh, then Tendou's upright again, fingers tapping on his knees. "I kinda figured you were getting settled into this place," he says. "Just, settled the way someone'd get if they were about to leave."

Asahi pauses, glances back. "I didn't even realize that myself," he says. His hand comes up to the warming curve of his neck in an age-old reflex.

"Now you know," Tendou sings. "Always spending your breaks looking through the ceiling, you think I didn't notice?" His heels thump against labeled steel. "By the way, we gotta set a date aside."

"We do?"

Tendou gasps; various rhythms stop mid-beat. "It's almost the end of the quarteryear!" he says, folding himself at the waist to hug his knees. "Jozenji-dori's gonna be all done up in lights and new sculptures already, we've gotta rent a cruiser and go before you're off a hundred systems away."

"That's…" Asahi's smile feels helpless on his face. "I'm not gonna be gone forever," he says, quieter than Tendou can laugh at, not knowing how to say this particular _thank you_.

"You're gonna be gone from _here_ , that's plenty a reason, all right," Tendou says, nudging his shoulder with a knee. "Chances close. I'm happy for you."

"Thank you," Asahi says. It seems as insufficient as he'd worried it would.

But Tendou, beaming, bundle of odds and ends and miracles, seems to understand. "It's been my pleasure," he says. "Also, I won't say no if you name a planet after me while you're out there."

Asahi laughs, leaning back against the crates. "I hope we happen across a young one, then, just for you."

 

 

 

 

Even with a recent haircut – Asahi thinks, or maybe it's just that his features have filled out a little more – Daichi looks the same as he did the last time they saw each other, video call or otherwise. Still another small certainty seems to slot into place.

"So… is that all?"

Daichi frowns. "Aren't you being a bit informal? This is an interview, you're aware."

"Wh— _Really?_ " There's a wave in Asahi's throat. "I thought I'd already, when I passed the exam—"

"Relax," Daichi tells him, and that is a horrible smile which tells Asahi to run.

He folds his arms in front of him, leans back on the couch. "That wasn't very funny," he says, letting his breath rush out through his nose.

"You can't tell me I'm not funny," Daichi says, "I'm your boss now."

It's not strictly true. Or, the part about him being Asahi's boss, that is true. But Asahi remembers daily meetings held after every dinner in an older ship's communal area, and the attentiveness with which Daichi had listened to every update and concern his crew would put on the table among the emptied plates, and he has years more of indirect memories to know the kind of captain his boss-once-again is. Questionably spirited humor and all. But he only raises his eyebrows, an answer that can be seen from the space Daichi occupies now.

"Shut it."

Asahi does. Then he opens his mouth again. "I know things aren't going to be the way they used to be," he says. "And I think, I wouldn't want them to. But… I hope I can be a good fit again."

Daichi stares at him. "If you weren't on the other side of the fleet from me right now, I'd punch your arm through your gut," he says. "In fact, I may do that anyway, few weeks time."

"A true greeting," Asahi says with a weak smile. "Sorry, I—"

" _Shut it_."

Asahi puts his hands out between them – between himself and the pixel projected call. "I'm not going to stop wanting to apologize for things," he says. "But I'm backing them up now. With things we can all see."

There's a beat, and a blink, and Daichi grins, just the way Asahi hadn't fully known how much he missed. Better than what he missed; beginning to be fixed. "You big goof," Daichi says. "Glad to have you onboard."

 

 

 

 

 

They're walking down the docks, two sets of bags hanging from two opposite shoulders. Asahi can feel Hinata's hand around his through two layers of suits and gloves, an anchor on the horizon, reaching, just for now, across waves of tempered worries to where Asahi has kicked off from shore.

There's a planet a few systems away, he's heard, that's entirely ocean.

A few steps before them, Tanaka's got an arm resting across Nishinoya's back, their helmets knocked together in some small secret their comm link has already provided. Asahi can't hear what they're laughing about, but the easy set of their shoulders beside each other is as good as shouted across a joyous room.

"You've gotta see the main banister, first!" Hinata says, voice skipping along between them. "Works just as quick as the cargo elevator, but it's so much more exciting, even if it only takes you down floors." He glances over, whispering despite their own comm link. "Just make sure Captain doesn't see you doing it."

Asahi can imagine the resulting ruckus. "I've seen the ship before," he says, laughing.

"Well, yeah, you built it!" Hinata is undeterred. "And now you're here, so everything's gonna run even better!"

"I don't—" Something of steel unfolds through Asahi's limbs, redefined from raw, still beating off-center in his chest. He sets his jaw by it. "I'll do my best to make it that way."

Hinata smiles up at him, stars stirring to life. Hoshiumi had gotten it a little differently, that time. Asahi doesn't feel surrounded. He thinks, thinks he believes, there's a place for him out there, too. He'll find his name on it.

There are small crowds busy along the edge of the harbor, loading and loitering and lifting hands in see-you-soons, all illuminated from above by utility lights, and further still by possibility. Daichi's ship – _their_ ship; plural, inclusive their – sits at dock among a row of others with several ramps extended, waiting for its crew.

"Ah!" Hinata stops in his tracks, boots clacking as one. "Hang on!" He doesn't, lets go of Asahi's hand with a moment's palm to its back, then bounds ahead to catch up to Tanaka with his bags swinging wildly at his side. He calls across the short distance between them as Nishinoya leaps up the ramp to the shuttle bay, where Tsukishima is turning midstep, looking torn between bracing for impact and attempting to dodge out of his path. "Keep coming, Asahi-san, just let me go in first!"

Asahi keeps walking, makes his way through temporal dawn with a new seedling in his heart. At his back, Sendai remains aglow, and he steps over the threshold onto the cargo ramp, where Hinata meets his eyes from the doorway, beaming, arms flung out to embrace the bay, the ship, the entirety of open space before them.

"Welcome home."

 

 


End file.
